A familiar face, a quiet ache

This isn’t one of those polished letters. It’s raw. A little bruised. Written in the quiet ache of a heavy night. I almost kept it to myself but I’m learning that vulnerability shared build bridges.

His video popped up on my FYP tonight.

And just like that, my chest got tight. My fingers froze. My brain tried to act unbothered, but my heart was already in its feelings.

I’ve blocked him. Everywhere.
Instagram. TikTok. Twitter. Snapchat.
I blocked every version of him I knew, every possible username, every loophole that could bring him back into my life.

But he made another account. A fresh one. And that was the one that showed up on my screen.
Uninvited. Unexpected. Still familiar.

I didn’t even realize I had missed him this much until I saw his face again. Until I heard his voice. It’s crazy how your body remembers people you’ve tried to forget.
My stomach dropped. My heart did that thing it does when it wants to be noticed.
I whispered to myself, “I’ve missed him.”
Twice. Just to be sure I wasn’t lying.

And then I did the most dangerous thing.

I didn’t scroll away. I let it play. I watched it.
I let the feelings come. I let the memory of who we were and everything we’ll never be again wash over me like a wave I wasn’t strong enough to stop.

I asked Siri to play music, just to break the silence.
She picked “Al Jannah” by Kizz Daniel.

“I wish I can talk to you one more time my friend… but e bad pass… I’ll see you for Al Jannah.”

And that line? It broke me.

Because it’s not that he died. He’s very much alive.
But there’s a kind of distance that feels permanent.
A kind of silence that’s louder than screaming.
A kind of heartbreak that lives in the quiet places like your FYP, or a song, or a memory you thought you deleted.

And tonight, it found me

Tears burned my eyes. Not out of regret. Not because I want him back. But because even good decisions can still hurt.

Because you can block someone, delete their number, erase every trace and still carry their name in the back of your mind like a scar you’ve learned to live with.

I know this was the right choice.
I know I’m better without the confusion, the second-guessing, the parts of me I kept shrinking to keep the peace.

But tonight… I just miss him.
Not the way things ended, not even the way things were but the softness of what we once shared.
The version of him I loved before the cracks.
Before the silence.
Before I had to choose peace over closeness.

And as I write this, my eyes are tired, but my chest is still full of things I don’t know how to name.

I’m going to bed with a heavy heart tonight.
But even in this ache… I know I’m choosing the right kind of hard.

The one that protects me.
The one that saves me from reliving what I had to survive the first time.

Goodnight.